


I Could Be More To You

by Dredfulhapiness



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Everyone Is Alive, Love Confessions, M/M, New Jersey mention, Not Canon Compliant, Post-Endgame
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:22:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24326467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dredfulhapiness/pseuds/Dredfulhapiness
Summary: Harley searched Peter’s face. He took in the perpetual bags under his eyes, the natural downturn of his lips, the single patch of hair that was a little bit too long right above his ear. Harley could practically see the gears in Peter’s head turning. His mouth moved as he scraped his teeth along the inside of his cheek. His eyes moved, as they always did-- and seemingly without his own realization-- to scan the room around them. Peter was going to have worry lines by the time he was twenty-five.Not for the first time since meeting Peter, Harley was tempted to smooth them out.
Relationships: Harley Keener/Peter Parker
Comments: 18
Kudos: 244





	I Could Be More To You

Peter and Harley were both so groggy they almost didn’t notice the issue with their motel room. Peter’s eyes were hardly open. He was sporting a bruise on his collar bone, his limbs were heavy, and when he breathed in all he smelled was singed hair. Harley lugged his suit, disguised as an inexplicably heavy briefcase, at his side. He abandoned it at the door. 

“Shower,” Peter mumbled, dropping face-first onto the bed instead. He groaned into the comforter. 

“I’m pretty sure getting electrocuted sterilizes your body,” Harley said. He took a bottle of water from the fridge and downed half of it in a gulp.

_ “You’re _ the genius who tried to fight Shocker in a metal suit.” Peter’s words were muffled by the comforter. 

“Sorry my shoes aren’t made out of  _ rubber,”  _ Harley snipped.

“Only the soles. Water?” Peter reached an arm out. His eyes were still closed. He grasped aimlessly at the air. Harley rolled his eyes and tossed the half-drank bottle to him. Peter chugged it and, upon coming up for air, said, “--Can’t believe you didn’t ground it.” 

“I didn’t realize I was going to be dealing with diet Electro,” Harley grumbled, toeing out of his shoes. “Besides, you don’t exactly have webs designed for…” He trailed off. Finally hydrated, Harley let himself take in more of the room than his Peter-and-water-centric tunnel vision had allowed. 

Peter hummed. It sounded more like a groan. 

“Didn’t Tony say there would be two beds?” 

Peter popped his head up and looked around. “I thought so,” he said, when his look around proved that there was not, in fact, two beds shoved into the tiny box of a room. He pulled his phone out of his pocket. “It says two beds,” he said, referring to their group chat (which Harley had lovingly named “Two geniuses and a billionaire”).

Word for word, the text read  _ There’s two beds waiting for you at the motel in town.  _

“The front desk is closed,” Peter said. “I can just take the floor.” 

“Do you have any idea how dirty the floors are?” Harley made a face. “You’re not sleeping on the floor.”

“You sound like Happy.” 

“You’re not sleeping on the floor,” Harley repeated. 

“Well neither are you,” Peter said with the confidence only a person who spent a lot of time around Tony Stark could manage. 

“Then you need to shower,” Harley said, “because you smell like shit and I’m not sharing a bed with you.” 

Peter whined. “Harley…. The shower’s so far away. I’m too tired. I’ll never make it!” 

“You’ll have to,” Harley said. “C’mon.” He tugged at Peter’s forearm and pulled him half off the bed, the comforter dragging away with him. 

“Nooooo,” Peter whined, but he didn’t fight back. 

If he really didn’t want to go, he wouldn’t have budged. Instead, he let Harley struggle, cursing quietly, until they both broke out in fits of laughter. Harley collapsed onto the bed next to Peter, their faces inches apart. There were creases on Peter’s chin where his mask had bunched up. Peeking out from under the collar of his t-shirt was a bruise that was already fading to green. 

Harley searched Peter’s face. He took in the perpetual bags under his eyes, the natural downturn of his lips, the single patch of hair that was a little bit too long right above his ear. Harley could practically see the gears in Peter’s head turning. His mouth moved as he scraped his teeth along the inside of his cheek. His eyes moved, as they always did-- and seemingly without his own realization-- to scan the room around them. Peter was going to have worry lines by the time he was twenty-five.

Not for the first time since meeting Peter, Harley was tempted to smooth them out. 

And then Peter’s gaze settled on Harley.

“What are you looking at?” He asked. 

And Harley, absolved of his moment of weakness, screwed his face up and said, “You  _ really  _ need to shower.” 

When Peter groaned, again, while peeling himself off of the wrinkled remains of the comforter, Harley knew that he hadn’t accidentally revealed a secret. 

\--

“Yes, May, I know. I’ll be on time for dinner tomorrow, I promise.” Peter spoke louder than usual for his phone’s microphone to pick him up from where it sat on the counter beside the sink. He bit down on his toothbrush. “Harley and I are leaving first thing in the morning.” 

“How’d your fight with… uh… Taser-Man go?” 

“Shocker, May,” Peter corrected. He spit into the sink. “No serious damage. I’d love to know how that guy’s suit works, though.”

“And Harley?” May’s voice rose an octave on his name. She made it sound like a commercial jingle Peter would never be able to get out of his head. 

“He’s fine, too. His hair’s going to be standing up straight for a few days, but he’ll live.” 

“You were alone for the whole ride down...” May said, “Did you two happen to  _ talk  _ about anything?” 

Peter had never snatched his phone up so fast. He turned the phone off speaker and pressed it to his ear. “Jesus, May,” he whispered. “No, I didn’t.” 

“Why not?” she asked, playful whining. “This was the perfect opportunity!”

“Yeah, the perfect opportunity to make things awkward,” Peter scoffed. “Besides, I told you: now is, like, a weird time for… that kind of stuff.”

“What? Love?” Peter winced. On the other end of the line, May was laughing to herself.

“It’s not  _ love,”  _ Peter said. He glanced at the door. “I’ve known him for, like, six months.”

“I knew I was going to marry your uncle Ben after the third date,” May teased. Peter groaned. 

“Look, May, It’s really late and I’m exhausted--”

“I’ll see you tomorrow at six, then,” she said. “I love you.” 

“Love you too, May.” Peter hung up, looked at his reflection in the mirror, and decided that shaving could wait until the morning. It was well after one, and falling asleep while shaving had never worked well for him before (if it weren’t for his healing abilities, he would have a few nasty scars on his chin). 

When Peter exited the bathroom, Harley was leaning against the headboard watching something on his laptop. He had one earbud in, the other was tangled up in a vicious knot.

“They still think I’m Iron Man,” he said without looking up from the screen. “It’s been two months and they  _ still  _ think I’m Iron Man.”

“I guess Tony’s retirement press conference wasn’t enough to convince them you aren’t him.” Peter shoved his dirty clothes into his backpack.

“Maybe if he’d  _ stayed  _ retired.”

But, of course, he hadn’t. Tony had made the retirement announcement and then had gone to fight some monster alongside Rhodey the next day. It took three weeks of persuasion to get him to cede one of his suits over to Harley, another two to talk him into actually letting Harley fight in it. 

“Now  _ that’s  _ a lot to ask,” Peter said. 

“Do I need to repaint?” 

“Do you want Tony to kick your ass?” Peter raised an eyebrow. 

“I mean, Rhodey’s suit was a different color.”

“Rhodey was called the wrong name, too,” Peter pointed out. “Besides, what does it matter? Let everyone think you’re Iron Man, that’s less of a media issue for you.”

“Ughhhh.” Harley shut the laptop. “The press is happy about seeing you, though.” 

“Only the channels you watch,” Peter said. “The others would be just as happy to see my head on a stick.”

“You  _ really  _ need to stop listening to Jameson’s podcast,” Harley said. 

“But I learn so much about myself from him.” Peter dropped onto the bed. “Did you know I’m dating Luke Cage?”

“I thought you were dating Wolverine.”

“That was last week,” Peter corrected. 

Harley snorted. 

“It’s your turn to shower,” Peter said, pulling his phone out of the pocket of his sweatpants. He needed to text Ned, and also MJ, and then remind Flash that they were presenting their English project on Monday. Flash didn’t really need a reminder, but it would help Peter to remember to finish his own half if he sent Flash a text about it. Plus, it would annoy Flash. He considered that a win.

“Please tell me you saved me some hot water,” Harley said. 

Peter just winked.

\--

At some point while Harley was in the shower, Peter had turned the lights off and gotten under the covers. 

Harley fiddled with the shades in an attempt to distract himself from how domestic climbing into bed beside Peter was about to be. The back of his neck was still damp. He ran his hands through his wet hair. 

“You’re going to hurt your eyes looking at that in the dark,” he said, suddenly overcome with the Tony-and-Peter compulsion to say the dumbest things when he got anxious. Peter looked up from his phone. 

“I don’t think that applies to me,” he said gently, like he was forcing himself to be polite. Harley swallowed.

“Right,” he said, kicking himself. Spider powers. For fifteen years Peter had needed glasses, and then one day he’d woken up and the world around him was clear. Like a Claritin commercial. Wipe away the fog.

He’d been hoping that Peter would already be asleep. It would have let him focus less on needing to make small talk while achieving (but not really) the dream he’d had ever since he realized how he felt about Peter. That is: domesticity. Sleeping in the same bed. Being around each other in their lives. 

But instead, Peter was wide awake and texting someone and Harley had to get under the covers soon unless he wanted to linger over the bed all night like some kind of ghoul or apparition. 

“I was thinking we could leave around nine,” Peter said just as Harley had worked up the courage to pull back the covers of the bed. “We should be able to get back up to New York by eleven.” 

“The sooner we get out of Jersey the better,” Harley shrugged. He sat on the edge of the bed, prepped himself to pull his legs under the covers. The mattress was only a double. No matter how they laid, their limbs would be touching. They’d touched before, sure (Peter was like that-- huggy, the kind of person who put his hand on your elbow when he talked to you), but this would be (different? No, that wasn’t right. Only different to Harley. For Peter this would just be a normal night. A slight inconvenience) closer. Longer. “What the fuck is a Wawa?”

“I think it’s some kind of bird.” Peter turned his phone off and put it on the bedside table. Harley laid back.

The blinds cast a shadow on Peter’s face. Stripes of red and black: the light from the vacancy sign and the absence of it. Peter put his arm under his pillow for support, tucked his elbow tight against his chest. He didn’t close his eyes, though; he just looked at Harley. Harley felt it in his chest.

“Hey, can I ask you something?” 

Harley blinked. His eyes focused. The lighting seemed less ethereal. 

“Shoot,” he said.

“What was your first impression of me?” 

“Uh,” Harley said, because Peter looked so  _ sincere  _ it hurt. He looked at Harley with wide, curious eyes, face pressed into the pillow. And Harley didn’t want to lie. He usually went out of his way  _ not  _ to lie (sarcasm and deception were different beasts), but Peter’s gaze was gentle and he had to reason with himself that omission was fine, too. “I thought you were smart. I mean, you had to have been if you were working with Tony. Also, nerdy. You were wearing that tie with all the digits of pi on it.” 

Peter winced.

Actually, the word Harley would have described Peter with was  _ charming.  _ Not in the suave Tony Stark way, but in a cute way. In a giggle-when-nervous way. In a hands-in-pockets, nerd-out-when-sci-fi-is-brought-up kind of way. He was polite-- introduced Harley to the Avengers like they were old friends. Declined drinks with a civil laugh and a shake of his head. Looked at Harley with a wild, impressed smile and slightly-mussed hair from Tony ruffling it. 

“That’s it?” Peter asked. “Smart and nerdy?”

“What? You want me to wax poetic?” 

Maybe it was the way he shifted his head, but Harley could have sworn he saw Peter frown. 

“No, I guess not.” He sounded dejected. Not enough for most people to notice, but Harley hadn’t spent the last six months studying Peter for the realization to slip through the cracks. 

“Well, what about you?”

“Hmm?”

“What was  _ your _ first impression of  _ me _ ?”

Peter squinted at him. 

\--

Peter’s first impression had been that Harley was hot. Then he’d found out he was smart and he’d gotten even hotter. He wore a sports coat, and a tie, and nodded along to whatever Pepper was saying with a sweetness that only southerners could manage. When he opened his mouth, Peter half expected him to drawl. When he made eye contact with Peter from across the room, Peter thought he might pass out. 

When Tony introduced them, Peter thought he shook Harley’s hand a little too enthusiastically. 

Half of his assumptions were wrong: Harley didn’t have much of an accent. He was only polite sometimes, when it suited him or when he was talking to someone that wasn’t Tony, or Peter, or Happy (or, occasionally, Rhodey). 

Harley was smart, though. He and Peter spent half of the post-snap celebration discussing feats of engineering. Harley showed him some blueprints he’d been working on. Peter, upon being accidentally outed by a less-than-sober Carol Danvers, had shown Harley the design for his webshooters. With his quick wit and focus, Harley was easy to talk to. 

\--

Peter looked at Harley-- face cast in shadow, head on the pillow-- and thought for too long about how to answer. 

He could take the safe route and tell Harley he’d seemed like a dick and laugh it off. He could say  _ you seemed nice  _ or  _ you seemed smart, too  _ or  _ you were funny.  _ Or, he could remember that he was the one who’d started this conversation. 

But Harley had only thought him smart and nerdy. 

“You’ve proven me wrong,” Peter said, “but at the time you seemed cool.”

Harley laughed. A beat. “What about now?” 

“Fuck no,” Peter said, “you’re the lamest person I know.” 

“That’s not what I meant.” 

Peter closed his eyes and he could still feel Harley’s eyes on him. He considered faking sleep. He considered ending the conversation. 

He considered success.

“I’m glad I know you,” Peter said. 

\--

Harley tried to convince himself that he’d imagined the fondness in Peter’s voice. He failed. Peter’s eyes were closed. There was a weight to Peter’s words and his eyes were closed and Harley was so,  _ so  _ close to him. Their hands were just inches apart on the vast expanse of bed, forming craters in the sheets. Harley studied Peter’s face. 

In so many ways, it was a sentence he’d been waiting to hear from Peter since he’d met him. In so many ways, it was different than anything he’d expected. Harley was so used to people who dealt affection out in acts of kindness shrouded by sarcasm. In so many ways, Harley was one of those people. 

He put his hand on Peter’s.

“I’m glad I know you, too,” Harley said, barely a whisper. 

Peter opened one eye. The other was still pressed against the pillow. 

“When I watched you teach Morgan checkers,” Peter said, “That’s when I knew.” 

A confession.

Harley smiled. “When you wouldn’t shut up during Return of the Jedi.”

A realization.

Peter turned his hand over, threaded their fingers together. 

“We should talk about this in the morning,” Peter said. “It’s late.” 

“Yeah,” Harley agreed. He didn’t want to  _ stop  _ talking about it. He didn’t want to leave this moment. He didn’t want to go back to fifteen minutes before when he was staring at his reflection in the mirror, putting off telling such a delicate lie. “Can I just--” 

Peter met him halfway. 

The kiss wasn’t hungry, or desperate, or rushed. It felt natural, like they’d kissed a million times before. They lingered for just a moment and pulled away. Tender. Casual. Peter’s smile made Harley’s stomach do kickflips. They both let their heads fall back down to their pillows.

“G’night,” Peter mumbled. 

“Night, Pete.”

They fell asleep with their hands intertwined.

\--

“You two look happy,” Tony said when Peter and Harley clamored through the front door. He and Pepper were on the couch. Her feet were on his lap, a book open in her hands. “Are you sure you were just in Jersey?”

“Catch.” Peter tossed a sandwich wrapped in “Hoagiefest”-labeled paper to Tony. “We grabbed you guys a sub.” 

“We also grabbed you a book of numbers.” Harley tossed him a book they’d grabbed at a gas station: a children’s book about counting. “Because you don’t know the difference between one and two.”

“What are you talking about?” Tony asked. He craned his neck forward, motioned his hands like visible question marks. Except, it wasn’t his hands. It was a hoagie and a book for toddlers.

“There was only one bed in the room,” Harley said. 

“That’s how it works,” Tony said. 

“Only if you’re Yente,” Peter said. 

Tony blinked. “I got you two separate rooms,” he said. The realization came right after, “Did you guys sleep in the same room?” 

“But you said you got us two beds,” Peter said, holding his phone out for Tony to see the screen. Tony raised an eyebrow. 

“There’s only one bed per room,” he repeated. 

Peter and Harley exchanged a look. A very  _ damn rich people  _ look. A very  _ uhhhh  _ look. A very  _?????  _ look. A very  _ oh so  _ **_that’s_ ** _ why we were given two keys at check-in  _ look.

“Not usually,” Peter said, clearing his throat. “Normally there’s two beds.”

“Why would you want to share a room?” Tony asked, head tilted.

“Y--” Harley started, but Peter just shook his head at him, silent. He thought about the hotel room that Tony had gotten him in Germany-- huge and gilded. He was starting to put the pieces together.

Harley cleared his throat. “It doesn’t matter,” he decided abruptly. “I’m gonna go work in the garage. Pete, you gonna come work in the garage?” 

“Uh…” Peter looked between Harley and Tony. “Yep. Yeah. I’ll go to the garage with you. Bye Tony!”

“Bye, children who live in my house and eat all of my food without inviting me.” As they rounded the corner, Peter heard Tony ask Pepper, “have they always been that weird?”

Just out of sight, Harley took Peter’s hand. They’d tell everyone tomorrow. For now, they wanted to keep it to themselves.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Even though this fic is a gift for my friend @3-thousand on Tumblr, I HAD to throw some self-indulgent New Jersey jokes into this. Anyway !!!! Happy birthday!!!
> 
> For anyone interested in talking to me, or talking shop & head canons, feel free to come talk to me on Tumblr @dredfulhapiness ! my asks are always open! Plus, comments and kudos are always appreciated here as well.


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